England's Lane

by Joseph Connolly

  I might have stuttered out something. More likely I just continued to stare at her.

  “All I mean to say, Mrs. Stammer, is that they are extremely particular. The zoological authorities. I am not altogether sure that a human being is quite within their remit, but should they feel the urgent need of a young example, then I hardly think that it is to Anthony, my son, that they will turn. He is marred, you see. Defective. They know nothing of my firstborn, Frederick, perfectly obviously. For he is dead, do you see? Though Anthony, my current son … no no. Never would they accept him, even as a gift—for never could they care, could they, for anything so very apparently detestable as a cripple.”

  My heart, just then, it simply cracked. I do not remember the landing, my tumbled flight down the darkened staircase, the murk of the corridor—only that now they were behind me. I fumbled with the snib on the back-door lock and was ablaze in my craving for God’s sweet air, and the kiss of sunlight. Outside in the yard, I simply stood there, trembling. I held out my arm, regarding it as a thing apart from me, as I witnessed its tremor. I was at that moment so terribly in need: and at once and of course my thoughts were of Jonathan. He could maybe just hold me, could he? My head against the warm and big deep throb of his heart, that would surely calm me. And so I skittered away down the alley, careless of who should see me, and prayed that the gate to his own yard had been left unlocked. Sometimes, he had told me, Sunday afternoon would find him in the office, attending to accounts. Maybe this was such a day …?

  Yes … it did seem so: oh thank you, thank you, gracious Lord. For as I stood just alongside that mighty and purring refrigerator he has there, I saw with relief through the tiny window of the office that one of his green-shaded lamps was lit, and so I rushed up to the door and would have hurled it wide …! But for the merest murmur within that stayed my hand. It was a voice. Quite low, the words indistinguishable. Though here was not Jonathan’s voice. No no—it was the voice of another. A woman’s voice. And then there was laughter, which Jonathan now was indulgently sharing. For one appalling instant, everything inside of me was knotted into ropes, rigid and twisted, my eyes as hard as glass. Then I fled.

  By the time I reached home, I had made up my mind to be numb. There would later be time—yes, and rather too much of it—to steel myself against just the very first and horribly corrosive seepage of the full and coming anguish that would rush in a welter and cover me over. But for now, in deferral of all such subsequent agony, I shall attend to Paul, my Paul, who is excitedly calling to me. They are back, then. The outing is over. I cannot comprehend where the time has gone, and no less how I have spent it. He is beckoning me up the stairs and into his room—and the light of excitement in his dear little eyes maybe will serve to urge me to inject if only a shard of animation into the lifelessness of my own. The reason the sweet boy is taking me away from the living room very soon becomes quite brassily evident: Jim, of course—jigging to some or other jazz tune on the wireless, his jacket with its pulled-through and inverted sleeves cast upon the floor, his loosened tie beneath an ear, his slackened face as red as blood. He is brandishing the neck of a bottle of Bass, the foam now coursing across his whitened knuckles.

  “Oh it was just wonderful, Auntie Milly—I do so wish you’d been there. As soon as you go in there’s this enormous elephant and you can get rides on him but Uncle Jim said it was too expensive but it didn’t matter because Anthony and Amanda and Susan and me—Susan is Amanda’s friend, she’s quite nice and not too girly for a girl, not sort of girly like some girls are—and we ran off to see the lions who didn’t roar or anything and they were just lying there because the man there said they’d only just been given their dinners and were having forty winks because it was Sunday afternoon but they probably do that every day, don’t they Auntie Milly? And Amanda and Susan, they really didn’t like the snakes but I did and Anthony did and I’d really like to have one, actually, a snake, one of the long black and green ones we saw, because you could keep it in a box under your bed and just feed it things and watch it when it goes all slithery around the floor. Amanda said she liked the giraffes the best but I told her you couldn’t keep one of those in a box unless you had a really cracking great box, which she thought was funny and she was laughing. And then we went to the cafeteria and Mr. Miller, he bought us all milkshakes and mine was banana and so was Anthony’s and Amanda and Susan, they had chocolate and strawberry, actually I think it was raspberry but it doesn’t matter. And I said to the grown-ups we’d just seen the apes and Uncle Jim said we’ve just seen them too walking past the window but I don’t think that’s true, well it’s obviously not true because they’re all in cages so that was just Uncle Jim talking like he does. I really didn’t want to come home but they were closing. I’d really like to go back—it’s really great there. Maybe next time you could come instead of Uncle Jim. Do you think you could, Auntie Milly? And we got some toffees in the gift shop with a picture of the chimps’ tea party on the box. Do you want to see it? Here—it’s great, isn’t it? I’ve eaten nearly all of the toffees, but I did dish them out to everybody. Some had nuts in which isn’t quite so good. We didn’t actually see the chimps in real life because I think they were all asleep. And we got a hot dog which I’d never had before. Do you know what they are, Auntie Milly? It’s not a dog, or anything—it’s a sort of orange sausage which tastes a bit funny actually but the bread was nice with ketchup which you squirt in it. And an ice cream from a van like they’ve got on the Heath but it’s not like Wall’s Family Bricks or wafers or anything because it comes out of a tap all swirly and it’s really really good and they put a Flake in it which are yummy. Mr. Miller said they must make a lot of profit, which I don’t really know what it means. Would you like a toffee, Auntie Milly? I’ve just got three left. What did you do today? Did you have a nice time?”

  And as he continued to babble on delightedly, Milly beamed as hard as she could, and continually stroked his hair. His pleasure was tugging her only gently, while normally it would long ago have overwhelmed her, and she would be hugging him tightly. Now, though, she could for not an instant longer barricade her mind from the invasion of the women: she had today been slapped so viciously until she was stunned by these two women, neither of whom even was known to her. But it was not the apparent derangement of Jane that most now disturbed her, profoundly shocking though it was. No—because of course it was the voice, the voice and the laughter, which soon then was chiming with his own. That of my man, as I have come to think of him: my man, yes. For the voice, it had been that of Fiona. Fiona, yes. His wife. With whom he gets along, oh … very well indeed then, it would surely appear. I am not sure I have before ever properly thought about this. Of Fiona. His wife. Her existence, of course—of that I am forever aware. That is a constant, a simple truth to be borne. Though I feel that it is not somehow … right, that they both should be so apparently friendly. That it is not altogether … decent. And then there was that other noise that had reached my ears before I could act upon the spur and rush away swiftly, my head bowed down like a villain, my insides so madly alive, just boiling in the turmoil. For there had been a chink. A chink of little crystal glasses. And I think that they were drinking Benedictine.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Merely a Matter of Convenience

  I’ve got a little bit of a head, to be honest. Not used to it, you see. But after just those few little nips of Haig I had off Jim in the cafeteria, I sort of got a taste for it. Which surprised me I can tell you, because in the normal sort of run of things, well—barely touch it at all, really: can’t even remember the last time I was in a public house. Don’t at all care for them. The smell and the men. But after we got back home, Anthony and me, all I was remembering was that I was fairly sure there could be a bottle of something or other at the back of the sideboard, just on the shelf over where we keep the photo albums—bottle of something left over from Christmas time. Buy it every year, I’ll never know why: bottle of Scotch, one of gin, tawny p
ort, another of Bristol Cream. Nobody drinks it. Never have anyone round, or anything. Well of course I don’t. So come Easter, I give it away to be raffled, most times. Tombola, sort of style. Good causes. Red Cross. Lifeboats. And those blind dogs you see about the place with some poor old sod there tapping away with his stick. Not the Polio people though, some reason; they wanted me to have one of those little plaster model boys in his calipers outside the shop, with a slot in his head for coins: soon sent them packing. Anyway … when I got back from the Zoo … oh, I was in all sorts of a state, I can tell you. All over the place, I was. In my mind, I mean: I wasn’t like Jim, reeling about like an idiot. He had nearly the whole of the bottle.

  I was very careful when Anthony and me got back to the shop. Jim, he’d already tottered off to his ironmonger’s—talking to his budgie Cyril, if you can believe it, and him still three doors away—and there was Paul, head down, walking slowly, and on the opposite pavement. Amanda had already gone home with that other one—what was she called again? Dear oh dear: my mind—I’m telling you. Gets worse and worse. And she’s a good girl, that Amanda—ever so grateful for all the tuck I’d treated them to: thought I’d never hear the end of it. The price of those toffees and that ice cream, though—how they’ve got the nerve. But you’ve got to, haven’t you really? Kids out on a treat—got to make it as nice as you can for them. Yes well—didn’t see Jim dipping into his pocket, though. Apart from a cup of tea and his whisky, it was all down to me. Christ Alive—it’s not as if I can afford it, or anything. Susan—yes of course: that’s the name of the other one: nice girl too, nice and polite. Not from the Lane I don’t think, though: else I would’ve seen her about. Anyway … when we came in, Anthony and me, I said to him—here, Anthony: have a nice day out, did you? There’s a good lad. Well you go off up to your room now, eh? I’ll call you down when your tea’s on the table—but after that hot dog, was it, and ice cream and I don’t know what else, I expect you’re fit to bursting, aren’t you? But I just want a little word with your mother, see? All right? Let her know we’re all back safe and sound. Maybe bring her up a cup of tea.

  But what I really wanted, of course … well I didn’t know. I didn’t know, did I, what I was wanting. Because I didn’t know what had been happening. All that had been going on while we’d been out. And Milly, for all I knew—well, she could be dead on the floor. Janey, she might’ve jumped out the window. And I know I shouldn’t even be thinking any of all that sort of thing. Or possibly, I don’t know … they’re both still up there, do you think? Chatting away, normal as you like. Or Milly—here’s a possibility—Milly, maybe at the very last minute she thought better of it and left well alone. I know I would’ve. That’s what I would’ve done if I’d been in her shoes, no question about it. But then she’s ever so determined, isn’t she? Strong. Very determined woman, Milly is. So, then … whatever the truth of the matter, well I had to now, didn’t I? Find out. What had been occurring. And so that’s when I was rummaging around in the sideboard. Black & White—barely an inch out of it: I maybe poured it over the old Mrs. Peek’s Christmas pudding, that tot, did I? Tried and failed to set fire to it, who’s to say? Anyway, it was just that one little nip out of it that saved it, I suppose, from being donated along with the gin and the port and the Bristol Cream to the Servicemen’s Widows and Orphans or whoever else had come rattling their tins in my face, last springtime. So I had a little dram—and it’s funny how it helps you out. Get a grip, sort of style. Makes you numb, just like I wanted it to. My ears, though—they were straining, I can tell you. Any little noise, I would’ve heard it. Moaning, breakages, anything of that order. Seemed normal. All seemed quiet. So I quickly knocked back just one more little noggin, and then I braced myself: right then, I was thinking: no more messing about—time to go and see.

  I stopped on the landing like I always do. Had another little listen. A creak up above me from Anthony’s room—and he’d got his little transistor on, sounded like. Ever so pleased he was, when I got it for him. Says he likes to listen to Radio Luxembourg or Radio Lichtenstein or whatever he said it was. Why he can’t be happy with the BBC like the rest of us I couldn’t tell you. Kids, isn’t it? But it’s only the size of a packet of twenty Player’s, and so there’s no sort of a speaker on the little thing—for all that it cost me the best part of six quid, I am not joking. John Barnes. Five pound nineteen-and-eleven, and it sounds more like a bit of fish you’ve got frying in the pan than any sort of music, if you want me to be honest. But Anthony, well—more than content, he seems to be. Everyone at school’s got one—that’s what he went on telling me, one of these tinny little transistors. Well, that’s all of it really, isn’t it? Wanting what all the other lads have got. And anything I can do to make the poor little blighter feel like he’s more a part of things—you know, not to be out of it at all—well, more than happy. You owe it, don’t you? You owe it, you do. So anyway, that was little Anthony upstairs, but on this floor … and I was standing ever so still … nothing at all. No sort of movement. So I open her door—easy, like I do—and I’m not really knowing what it is I’m expecting … but I can tell you this: I was ever so relieved when I see her just sitting up in her bed, like she does. Arms out all stiff across the counterpane. Staring at something. Staring at nothing. I don’t know.

  “All right are you, Janey love? Oh dear—you never touched your tea, look. And the sausage roll—go off the idea in the end, did you? Fancy trying a little bit now, maybe …? I can cut it up small. No? Well let me get you a nice fresh cup, anyway. Anthony … Anthony, yes? He had a lovely day. Zoo. Remember I told you, Janey? This morning, before we went off? Yeh. Zoo. That’s where we were. Lovely day. Back now. Cushions all right, are they? Your pillows? Plump them up a bit? No? Sure? No trouble … All right then, Janey. I’ll just pop off and make that tea. Shan’t be a jiff. And when I come back, if you’ve changed your mind about wanting a little bite of something to eat, well you can tell me then. All right? All right, Janey? Hear me, can you? Well—like I say, I’ll be back in no time.”

  And then I shut the door behind me. And I just closed my eyes. The fizzing of Anthony’s transistor, that was the only noise, the only noise in the whole of the world. So there it was, then. She was in exactly the same position as I’d left her in the morning. Hadn’t so much as shifted. So if Milly did come, that’s what she’d had to cope with. Just like I do—day in, day out. So now she maybe knows what it’s like. What I was on about. If she did come. Don’t suppose I’ll know now, will I? Not till the morning.

  So I got Anthony his tea: fish finger, few peas, bit of bread and a Kit-Kat. Nice big glass of gold top. Brought it up to him. Thought I would. And I didn’t trouble with a brew, no I didn’t. I didn’t fancy any—which is odd for me, I can tell you that. So I had a Scotch. And Janey? Make a cup for Janey, should I? No point. Is there? Bring her a cup of tea, she’s just not going to drink it. More than half … it’s true, you know: more than half the PG Tips I buy, I’m pouring down the sink. Criminal. So I just sat there in the front room. With my Black & White. And it was the light that woke me up. Gave me ever such a start. Couldn’t work it out, not at first. And then I twigged: it was daylight, coming through the gap in the curtains. Been on the settee for the whole of the night, then. My heart was in my throat till I looked at my watch: no, it’s all right—still got plenty of time to get Anthony all ready for school: only just gone six. So I thought I’d have a bit of a wash and a brush-up—but when I went to get up, though … ooh, I did feel it. Right above my temple, there. Heck of a throb. And the bottle of Black & White—wasn’t that much left in it, so it’s hardly a surprise.

  It’s just after twelve now, and I’m down in the shop. Of course I’m down in the shop: where else am I going to be? Milly, she telephoned me earlier. Asked her a hundred questions before she could even get a word in: What went on? Did you come? What did she say? Did she say anything? Did you come? What went on? She just said she’d pop in at dinnertime, have a bit of a chat.
Not sure I’m looking forward to it, really. Yeh and then I remembered who else was due to pop in at dinnertime: Sally from Lindy’s, to do the window. Hippo is what Anthony’s taken to calling her now. Ever so cheeky, but it did make me laugh. I’d laugh right now if I was in the mood. Phoned her, Sally. Tried to put her off. Not a great time if I’m honest, I said to her—maybe another day Sally, eh? Wouldn’t hear of it: couldn’t let you down Mr. Miller, is what she said to me, what with Christmas just around the corner and everything: don’t forget, Mr. Miller, this is the season when we’ve got to display all the Cadbury’s and Fry’s selection boxes and the chocolate snowmen and all those little bags of gold coins and the really big gift boxes of All Gold and Terry’s and Black Magic with all the ribbons! Then there’s the special Christmas packs of cigarettes and cigars. Jingle Bells, Mr. Miller! See you soon! Yeh … and never mind jingle bells—my head now, it was going like a pair of bongos. Christ Alive.

  It’s what I call patchy in the shop—just cigarettes and tobacco, very largely. Saturday mornings the smokers will stock up fairly heavily because they know I’m closed on Sundays—and then on a Monday morning, bright and early, back they all come, poor devils. Kiddies are at school, of course, so I won’t see them till soon after four. And me, my mind, it’s not really on the job. That Mr. Hoskins, he gave me ever such a look when I slid across to him twenty Woodbine. Can’t imagine what I was thinking: he’s been a Weights man ever since I can remember. And so now that she comes in the door—Milly, she’s coming in the door—it’s that much of a relief, I can hardly tell you. My head, it’s not too bad, but the old stomach now—that’s in the middle of giving me a bout of merry hell.